Escaping Prince John
by Serena Wronski
Summary: In order to escape the reign of Prince John, Robin must escort Prince Philip through England. But first he has to meet Phillip and the ice must be broken.


AN- Thank you for entering my fic. For those of you who don't know the background, Phillip is the illegitimate, half French son of King Richard. Not wanting Prince John to take the crown, Richard gives the royal ring thing to Phil so he can take the crown instead. Of course, John doesn't want this to happen so as Phil enters the country, John's after him. This fic is about Robin Hood being Phil's escort to the throne once Phil's in England. The story is basically describing what I think happened when Robin and Phillip first met. Ok enjoy!  
  
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Casual. I must remain casual. I sighed. No matter how many times I repeated those words in my head, which had now become more of a meaningless mantra, I couldn't help but feel prickles up my spine at each rustling leaf. I had mad it all the way from France and into a small village outside Cambridge, England yet I was more terrified now, at the end of my lonesome journey, than I had been the whole span of the voyage.  
  
My legs halted as I reached the bottom of a muddy hill's road. I licked my lips, as I had formed the obnoxious habit of doing when nervous, and strained my eyes to find a man in plain brown pants and a dirty white tunic. He would be sitting on a boulder that was between two larger boulders. That's when I saw him. Not a tall man, but not a short one; he looked strong and fit, but I couldn't really tell from his sitting position. In his right hand was a uniquely carved wooden lute and in his left, he held a dull knife, good for picking meat from teeth but for little else. Exactly the characteristics my father's letter told me to look for.  
  
I approached him and briefly scratched my neck with my right hand as I had been instructed in the letter. He gazed at my fingers a moment, but his eyes soon shifted to my face.  
  
At first I thought I'd found the wrong person, for he did not speak for a good few moments. "I seek an old friend," he finally murmured.  
  
I exhaled deeply, realizing I'd forgotten to breath. "Where might I find the river?" Why had I even worried? Our dialogue was going exactly as planned and soon I would be in the hospitable atmosphere of Sherwood Forest with Robin Hood.  
  
"Go under the bridge and turn onto the forest path. When you reach the fork in the path, continue go between the two pathways and continue on until the clearing." I nodded and smiled took two steps when his voice reached my ears again. "I am to accompany you, my friend." He added, tucking the dull knife in his belt, and pulling out knife quite the opposite of dull. "The winds have changed, we'll need to be brisk to beat the story."  
  
I looked to the sky, bewildered. It was the clearest of early summer days and no wind even blew. Then I began to fell stupid. He wasn't speaking of the free, blowing wind. He was speaking of the wind and storm that obeyed not Mother Nature, but Prince John. "Let us make haste." The man walked so briskly that I almost had to jog to keep up with him. I had no idea how his average legs took the lengthy strides they did, but I did not dare utter a complaint. He stopped once we were so deep in the forest that the early afternoon's sunlight looked like dusk as it was hidden by the density of the trees. We were out of the danger, I assumed. I expected him to tell me his name or even flash a smile, but no. He listened to what I heard as nothing and took off, even faster than before.  
  
What were we running from? I would never know. But we soon reached a clearing. As soon as my feet stopped moving, I felt my stomach heave and leaned over to release to my last meal. No sooner had I stood up and wiped my mouth than I realized the man was gone. Perhaps he'd gone in search of food? Yes, that would be quite appropriate. I waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Forty. An hour. "Bastard!" I shouted at no one. "He's left me here to die!"  
  
"Actually, he saved you by diverting the soldiers." I whirled on the speaker. A different man from the last, clad in Kendal green and with a knowing smile on his face. "Alan. That's his name. He is out minstrel and you were his first mission. We're quite proud of him."  
  
In that instant, it hit me like a slap in the face. "Robin Hood. You are he? Are you not?"  
  
"I am," he replied simply. "And from the crested ring on your finger our friend Alan identified, I presume you are Phillip."  
  
"You presume correctly." I was so relieved that I fell to the ground and lay on my back.  
  
Robin laughed, but it was a sympathetic laughter. "You are that tired, highness?" He dropped to the ground as well and sat by my knees. I think he was about to say something, then, but I'll never know what, for a woman kneeled at Robin's side.  
  
"Did you miss me?" She muttered and touched his shoulder lightly. Her chestnut hair fell limp on past her shoulders and her face was pale. She, too, had obviously been on a long journey, yet in her exhaustion, she was still the most exquisite woman I had ever seen. It wasn't that she was at first glance perfectly beautiful; her charm came from much deeper than that. It was something in or eyes. Or maybe her posture. No matter how many or what features it came from, she seemed royal and enchanted the observer. And I couldn't put my finger on what, but something was familiar about her.  
  
Robin saw the something too. Although I suspected this wasn't the first time he'd ever looked at the woman, he looked at her as though it was. He turned to her and look in his face was indescribable. He took her hand in his. "No," he finally responded to her question, kissing her hand. "Not a bit, not at all." As he said this, however, she rested her head on his shoulder and Robin kissed it gently. "But please don't leave again."  
  
The woman laughed and sat back up. She looked at me with a kind smile one would pass to a stranger, but the expression changed in moment to on of recognition. I immediately sat up. "Phillip." She said.  
  
"Yes," said Robin, "this is Prince Phillip. Excuse me for my manners, or there lack of. Your highness, this is my wife-"  
  
"The Lady Marian," I interjection by instinct. "I have heard a great deal about the 'Lady of the Forest'."  
  
"Have you?" She grinned mysteriously. "Yes, I am the one called Marian. You would be the age of..... let me see, 20 now. My how the years have passed." She continued to stare at me in what I recognized as pride but shook her head with a smile a few moments later.  
  
"How did you know my age?"  
  
"Let us say that I have heard a great deal about the 'French Prince of England'." I laughed.  
  
"Well," Robin stood and helped Marian to her feet and then hoisted me up too. I felt as though I'd lost my likes and began falling again, but Robin supported me. "We should get back to camp and get you both something to eat."  
  
I don't quite remember how we got to camp nor do I recall what I ate, but I know I felt much better after supper. I sat on the ground, near the fire hearth, while Robin and Marian sat on the bench across from me. We exchanged stories with a number of Robin's band of our journeys and lives, although Robin's topped mine by far, and generally talked about everything. Finally, though, the festivities were ended as Robin announced he would retire to bed. "Goodnight, Princess Evelyn," He whispered with a facetious grin into Marian's ear. She shot him a sidelong glare as he kissed her lightly on the lips. I looked around. I had obviously been the only one near enough to hear the statement and it muddled me. Who was Princess Evelyn? I looked up and met Marian's eyes, quite concerned, but could not hold their gaze for a second. She looked away quickly and soon after retired to bed. It didn't make sense and must have been a joke. The thoughts slowly drifted from my mind and I began thinking about other things; my sword, my best friend back in France. But my mind was working in a circle, and I soon found myself wondering why indeed Marian looked so familiar. My last conscious thought was of the impossible and I drifted into sleep questioning how impossible it really would be.  
  
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If you got this, mind you, this is only what Phillip is wondering. It doesn't have to be true nor does it have to be false, it's at the readers' discretion. And if you didn't get it, take from this ficlet what you will and please give me feedback on it. I've never done a one-chapter thing before. 


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